


The Test of Time

by JustAnotherGhostwriter



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Director Carter on a Mission, F/M, Gen, Old Friends, Old Marrieds, Peggy Carter is Tony Stark's Godparent, Way Past Season Two's Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGhostwriter/pseuds/JustAnotherGhostwriter
Summary: In hindsight, perhaps it should have taken a lot more effort on Jack's part for him to convince Peggy to break SHIELD regulations so that she could walk around a carnival looking for a suspected terrorist clown for him.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Daniel Sousa & Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter & Tony Stark, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: SSR Confidential 2020





	The Test of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lets_call_me_Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_call_me_Lily/gifts).



> Dearest Lily. I took a little bit of a lot of the prompts you suggested and kind of made a stew with them. I hope that you can find all the little things here and there, and that you're okay with the fact that I skimmed a lot instead of focussing on only one. May this bring you joy! Thanks for signing up to this exchange!

In a fit of petty vindication, Peggy used the bit of change her senior citizen discount gained her to buy the largest stick of candyfloss she could at the stall beside the entrance to the temporary carnival.

“It’s a capital offence to misuse government funds, Marge,” Jack’s voice drawled in her ear as soon as she’d finished giving the vendor her order.

“Put it on my record,” she muttered quietly, trying to remember to keep her body language frail and meek and definitely not showing her exasperated irritation.

“Won’t it blow your cover?”

It was Agent Federson, seated beside Jack in the surveillance van just down the street from the carnival, who answered with a short laugh. “You think old ladies don’t eat cotton candy, Thompson?”

“They have false teeth!” Jack protested.

Peggy winced at the reminder that she’d very narrowly avoided being forced to wear a pair of false teeth herself. Jack’s costume guy insisted they were needed for the _authenticity_ of her disguise, but Peggy had been so deeply startled at how _little_ they’d had to do to make her look generically geriatric in age that she’d fought the decision. And had won by compromise; her teeth had been slightly stained to make them look older. She’d tried to fight the fact that her mic was in an honest-to-goodness hearing aid, but they hadn’t had any backup for her. From Thompson’s shit-eating grin, she knew that it had been his idea, and that he was greatly amused by the whole setup. The bloody wanker.

“Precisely.” With the tall cloud of pink held in front of her mouth, Peggy could talk much more freely. “They don’t need to worry about cavities. Which means there’s more freedom to eat whatever they want, whenever they want.”

So saying, she took another viciously satisfied mouthful of the sugar-rich treat she held in her hand. Peggy knew that she was being slightly illogical about this mission – and _had_ been slightly illogical about it from the first moment it was proposed three days ago. She’d been undercover as all sorts of things before, and had received _far_ worse comments than some well-meaning condescending cooing about how _lovely_ and _sweet_ it was that she was coming to have _such fun_ at the fair alone _at her age_. And yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself reacting emotionally to the words, much like she’d reacted to realising how few wrinkles the makeup artist had to paint on to make her look _old_. How little grey they had to add to her hair. She had laughed at those around her having crises about their age, and now she seemed to be having one all of her own in the middle of an inter-departmental mission.

“Where are you? What can you see?”

“The large carousel by the entrance. I see a lot of children and parents. Lots brightly dressed, but no clowns in sight.”

“By the entrance? _Still_? Marge, could we hurry things up?” Jack asked, exasperated as she shuffled leisurely through the crowd, eyes sharp behind the fake glasses for any sight of their suspect.

“No,” she answered back, smartly. “I’m an old woman, Jack. I can’t be sprinting around the place.”

“I don’t need you to _sprint_. I just need you to be past the front entrance before nightfall,” he shot back. 

“I apologise – I thought the aim of this mission was to find a Spanish terrorist who currently works as a clown, not to break the record for the fastest sprint around a carnival,” she returned smartly.

And Jack, who still had to have the last word even after all those years, simply said, “We’re not _sure_ he’s a clown.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, even though Jack wouldn’t see the gesture. She could picture Federson’s bemusement by the pointed way the younger Interpol agent was being quiet; she’d seen enough of the same expression on various people’s faces over the years when they got to bear witness to her and Jack’s particular brand of working relationship. The only thing that would make it _more_ unprofessionally acerbic was Daniel’s unique brand of solid, knifing sarcasm. A pang of raw guilt knifed through _her_ at the stray thought, and she pushed it away hastily, latching on slightly desperately to banter instead.

“Perhaps Interpol should have done better recon, then, instead of sending me on a wild goose chase after a maybe-clown.”

“Technically, this case came from the CBI,” Federson butted in, loyalty to his organisation strong enough for him to wade into the fray. “Thompson just wrangled it somehow that Interpol got handed the responsibility of apprehending Garcia.”

“ _That_ wasn’t in the mission brief,” Peggy said, her spine straightening subconsciously as suspicion started niggling at her. “Jack – ”

“Because it didn’t have to be,” Jack snapped, sounding genuinely irritated. He couldn’t possibly see Peggy’s pursed lips, or whatever her expression was pulling into, but he must have sensed it in her silence, because he sighed and continued, tone slightly gentler. “This isn’t a conspiracy, Peggy. You _know_ I still have SHIELD’s best interests at heart, too.”

Jack was still listed as an active agent on the SHIELD registry, just as he was on the registries of Interpol, the CBI and FBI. And, very possibly, one or two other agencies she hadn’t yet heard about; he’d gotten good enough at his job of moving seamlessly from organisation to organisation as needed that many more were greedily trying to get their hands on his particular brand of skills that were coupled together with years of experience and the persona that Vernon Masters had unearthed and Jack himself had sculpted to exquisiteness. But his name on the list of people under her employ wasn’t what made her believe his loyalty – it was everything _else_ that roped him to her through the years; the undercurrent of history that moved through his words.

“You think SHIELD has interest in a Spanish terrorist clown? Maybe-clown.” It was her way of saying, without saying, that she believed him. Jack would know that.

“Let’s just say that some of the testimonies about Garcia didn’t make it into the official reports because they sounded too weird to people not very familiar with _strange_ and all her costumes.”

“And?” she pressed. He had already told her that part when recruiting her, and was only repeating it for Federson’s sake. But she wanted the kernel of truth he was trying to bury. And she’d long since learned that subtlety and patience didn’t often yield as much with Jack Thompson as running at the problem screaming and brandishing weapons.

She used Jack’s silence to keep roving around, following every flash of bright orange to see if it led to a clown wig, but to no avail. Peggy was nearing the heart of the carnival, now, where a large tent was erected. It didn’t look like a circus tent, though; all white, and square instead of round. There was some board proclaiming what was inside, but there were too many people inside for her to see. Jack’s silence continued to stretch, and she wondered if he wasn’t thinking and weighing up what to confess to in Federson’s hearing so much as ignoring her completely. She was about to nudge him again for an answer when he gave one.

“We needed a woman. Less threatening – ”

“And I know that you have several female agents across all agencies who could act like mothers with children at this place. Or, should you find _all_ of them so very lacking,” she said, scathingly, “you could have asked for one of my many female agents. I can assure you, they’re only the best.”

“I don’t doubt it, with you teaching them the ropes,” Jack muttered, part insulting and part proud.

“So why come to _me_ and not SHIELD?” she pressed again. “And I’ve just reached the entrance to a tent showcasing... technological children’s toys. Robots and dolls that cry, I suspect, but I also think it would make a wonderful place for Garcia to work. It’s more secluded, but still in public, and I think it only has one entrance.”

“Here I was beginning to think you’d forgotten why you were here,” Jack ragged. “Remember not to go gunning for him if you do find him, Marge.”

“I do remember my mission parameters, thank you,” she said, dryly. “What I’m still lacking is the _motivation_ behind giving this mission to me. Which you were about to enlighten me on.” Peggy smiled kindly and waved at a little girl who had given her a shy, gap-toothed smile.

Jack sighed, muttered something about _bull-headed_ and then said, in a tone trying too hard not to be sheepish, “I heard that you created a rule that you’re no longer allowed to be on field missions. Wanted to see if you’d stick to it, or if I could tempt you.”

Federson let out a little noise of alarm. “You’re... wait... you’re not _allowed –_ ”

“It was more of a... verbal agreement,” Peggy argued back, turning to look at a display of battery-powered robots so she could speak without being noticed. She didn’t mention how heavily said verbal agreement had been minuted and copied and distributed. “And it was made a few years ago because, at the time, we didn’t have a viable replacement for me. SHIELD would have gone into disarray should I... suddenly not be there. So we made a decision it would be prudent that I just do desk duty.” She paused for a beat. “As I said. It was years ago. We now have much better systems in place –”

“You broke the rules to go gung-ho on a mission,” Jack interrupted, and he was _definitely_ smiling. “Because some things never change. Not even when _you’re_ the one _making the rules_ in the first place.”

“This isn’t _technically_ a SHIELD mission, as you came to _me,_ not the agency,” Peggy muttered and realised, a moment later, that she was sounding a lot like Jack. And feeling a lot like the sort of mulish that had made her buy candyfloss and kick up a fuss about not wearing false teeth.

The truth, really, that Margaret Carter-Sousa was dancing around like an Irishman drunk on whisky, was that she’d been _slightly illogical_ about this mission since before she’d been officially on the mission. Years with only a desk job had worn her logic thin, and all it had taken was Jack showing up with _that_ glint in his eyes and a rakish smile and some good-natured needling, and she’d leapt at the chance. And she’d felt half emancipated and half steeped in guilt since she’d made her decision. When SHIELD inevitably found out she’d been on an off-record, multi-beureu mission...

When _Daniel_ inevitably found out that _this_ was what she had meant when she’d told him she had a ‘work thing with an old friend’ to attend to...

The latter situation made her feel more miserable than the first. At SHIELD she was Director, and could ask for forgiveness for bureaucratic and technical slipups. Hell, she’d helped _create_ half of the loopholes she would probably employ to get people to stop flapping around when they found out. But she had no excuse for not telling Daniel. Despite him being head of recruitment, her half-truth and outright-secrecy went deeper than just a career move. She’d known that waking up and saying goodbye to him that morning. And yet she’d still gone. That was, possibly, what was the worst of all. She’d _still gone_.

Once more, Peggy forcefully pushed the guilt to the back of her mind, and focussed fully on the mission. The tent was crowded, but it didn’t take long to ascertain that there was no clown, Spanish terrorist or not, in the place.

“Why _aren’t_ there any clowns here?” Peggy mused out loud as she turned to leave the tent. “It’s a funfair! Carnival. Whatever. I thought our biggest problem would be having to search too _many_ clowns. But I haven’t seen a single one...”

The strangest sensation ripped through her right ear. Peggy clutched at it instinctively and found that the hearing aid was gone. Frantically, heart pounding as adrenaline took over, she searched around for the attack.

“Sorry, ma’am! Sorry!” A middle-aged man dressed in a too-tight suit was hollering at her and waving his arms. “My magnets have been snatching things all day!” Peggy glanced at her hand, found minimal blood – probably superficial scratches, and nothing more, and then assessed the stall beside her. The magnets were _huge_ – no wonder they were _snatching_ things off of people as they walked passed. “Can you hear me?” the man bellowed at her, looking worried as he tried to detach the fake hearing aid from the magnet without disrupting the – admittedly intriguing – dance of his little metal figurines that were using the magnetic forces to seemingly fly without strings through the air.

“That’s quite alright, young man,” Peggy said in her best _old_ voice, nearly yelling herself to cut across the man’s loud apologies. “No harm...”

But harm _had_ been done – the hearing aid came back in three pieces. Peggy swore internally and tried to stick the main part back in her ear. There wasn’t even static. She must have looked truly pathetic, because the man looked miserable and started apologising again. She tried to reassure him that she could afford a new one and make do by herself, but he insisted that she wait so he could give her one of his business cards, which were surprisingly absent. Peggy watched him until his back was fully turned as he started rummaging through his things, and then slowly but firmly turned to go. The group of children standing around the stall and staring in awe at the display of magnetism had changed since she’d last looked, and Peggy noticed from the corner of her eye as she turned to leave that one little boy in the front was staring straight at her. Instinctively, she glanced back. And froze.

Tony Stark was squinting at her, little face scrunched up in confusion. Her hesitation was, apparently, enough for him to recognise her, because the confusion changed to understanding and then delight. He took a bounding step toward her, mouth open to give the yell of hello that would give her away. And so she stepped forward a little faster than a person her age should, and scooped Tony up tight, muffling his cry of _Aunt Peggy_ against her chest. Happily, he snuggled closer.

“Hi! It’s you! Why’re you dressed like an old lady?” he asked, struggling to be let go.

But she didn’t let him go, scared of what he might say and who might be listening. “I’m... er... playing a game. Of hide and seek and dressup together. With some grownup friends,” she said, into his ear. “So you mustn’t let them know I’m me, okay?”

“But you can _see_ you’re you,” Tony said, his superior-confusion making her think of his father in a way that made her want to laugh.

“ _They_ don’t have eyes as good as yours. Or a brain as smart as yours. Will you help me win by pretending you don’t know me?” Tony nodded. She kissed the side of his head. “Thank you. It’s good to see you.”

She finally let her godson wriggle free. He made as if to wave, remembered himself, and scampered off without a background glance. Peggy busied herself with getting to her feet slowly, making sure she once again looked old. But she couldn’t help but keep an eye on Tony, wanting to make sure he got back to wherever Jarvis was safely. And she surmised, an awful second before Tony ran up to a person very much not-Jarvis, what plans with Daniel she’d cancelled that day. In something of a grim acceptance of an inevitable wreck on the horizon, Peggy watched her husband lean down so Tony could chat animatedly in his ear. Any tiny remaining hope that Tony was going on about the magnets was dashed when Tony pointed and Daniel’s eyes found her. He blinked a couple of times, and then his eyebrow rose. Very high.

Caught between defensiveness and more guilt, Peggy slid her gaze away and was, thankfully, accosted by the loud and apologetic magnet man, who had finally found his card. She listened with rapt attention, trying to get rid of the feeling that Daniel’s gaze boring into her, and he mistook that for her needing him to say things louder and slower.

“Mom! There you are!” an arm appeared around Peggy’s shoulders so suddenly she had to fight the reflex to react with an elbow to a solar plexus. “I’ve been looking for you all over!” Jack said, grinning a very fake grin as he held on to her.

The store owner explained what happened and apologised, but this time seemed to feel absolved of his guilt when Jack assured him that he’d take ‘his mother’ straight home where they had a spare. The two men shook hands and Peggy stopped herself from doing something petty as Jack led her a little way away.

“What are you doing? If Garcia sees you – ” Peggy hissed at Jack as they came to a standstill.

“Your com went dead. We couldn’t reach you. Right after you seemed to be having some epiphany about the case. Sorry for assuming you’d gotten yourself into hot water. _Again_.” Peggy sighed, unable to be mad at him for rushing in to try and save her from what really did seem like a dire situation, from all the evidence he’d been given. “You know, a ‘thank you’ would be ni – ” Jack trailed off. “Is that _Sousa_?”

Against her better judgement, Peggy followed her gaze. Daniel was looking back at them with _both_ eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hair.

“Yes,” Peggy said, miserably.

“I thought you didn’t tell – ? Oh.” Jack cleared his throat, awkwardly. “How’d he find out?”

“He didn’t. He came here for unrelated reasons and then saw me.”

Jack shifted a little bit, then muttered something about getting back to the mission. She still glanced back as they trailed away, needing to see the look on Daniel’s face one last time – she had to _know_ what he was thinking about all this – but Daniel was no longer there. Jack did a bit of a loop with her before her insistence that he get back to the van before he was recognised got through to him. But he was still hesitant to go, something forming on his lips that he obviously felt he could not leave without saying.

“He... Sousa won’t... think we’re... you know. You and me.”

She squinted at him, dumbfounded, for a moment before she started to laugh. “With me dressed up like a grandmother? Is there a reason he’d think you’d be into that, Jack? Something you want to tell me about dating older women?”

Jack was scowling at her, and she knew him well enough to tell that there was genuine embarrassment, there. And genuine worry. And she realised, too – a little belatedly – the other reason he’d come to her for this mission. Because he’d missed working with her. Because they were still friends, even over thirty years later.

“No, Jack. I don’t think us having an affair is the first conclusion Daniel’s mind jumped to,” she said, patient and soothing.

And then, impulsively, Peggy took his arm and led him back the way she’d come, insisting that he trust her every time he questioned what she was doing. She finally found the mask store she’d passed, and bought Jack a plastic tiger mask that was a little too small for his face, but that still rendered him mostly unrecognisable. Especially with an old woman apparently using his arm as a crutch. Together, they searched the last little bit of the carnival and found what they’d suspected: Garcia wasn’t there. Nor were any other clowns. They discussed that and its implications in low voices as they slowly made their way back out and back to the van.

“I think we might have been had,” Federson said, face grim as they piled back into the van.

“What?” Peggy and Jack said at the same time, and then started firing off different questions, speaking over each other.

“I don’t know, and I couldn’t contact you... No, he didn’t look Spanish. Didn’t sound it, either. I just... I was sitting here, waiting to hear from you, Thompson, when I realised you hadn’t taken a damn com. Then there was a knock on the window. I ignored it, but the knock came again. Guy with a crutch and a kid stood there. And he just said, ‘Tell Carter that there’s enough dinner for three’ before nodding all politely to me and leaving.”

Peggy caught Jack’s eye and burst out laughing, letting Jack explain that they hadn’t been cased by the enemy. Only by her brilliant husband. Who had found a way to tell her, without words, that he wasn’t furious, but would still want an explanation from them both.

“Guess you’re coming around for supper, Jack,” Peggy said, still amused as she began to wipe off her disguise.

Jack gave her a sideways look. “You just don’t want to have to face Mr Carter alone,” he shot back. The insecurity was almost invisible.

“True,” she said, lightly. “And because I really do want you to come to dinner, you daft man. _Both_ of us do.”

Peggy held Jack’s gaze as he scrutinised her and then mulled it over. She knew she _would_ have to face Daniel and explain that she hadn’t told him because he would have told her not to do it, and would have been fully right in saying so, and she didn’t want to listen to _right_ back then. And it would take more than that to make up for her deliberate way of hurting him but, after over twenty-five years of marriage, it would hardly be the worst way they’d hurt each other. Not even the worst way intentionally. Daniel seemed to understand that, too.

And Peggy _wanted_ Jack and him in the same room together, with sniping words but relaxed shoulders. She wanted to _innocently_ trick Jack into being the latest victim to Tony practising The Tortoise of Fury until Jarvis came to reclaim his protegee later that night. She wanted time with her godson – even if he had managed to dismantle her hairdryer _again_ after promising not to – with Jack relaxing like he belonged somewhere and the sound of Daniel singing as he cooked. She wanted to give her apology and receive her penance and sway dance in the living room, even if the radio kept insisting on playing Journey songs over and over. Or... no. After chasing Tony around all day, Daniel would be sitting as much as possible. So cuddling on the couch, then. Hands twined tight together in promise. Jack making snide comments while sneaking them fond glances when he thought they weren’t looking.

Federson bowed out gracefully, without even a hint that he felt entitled to an invitation as well, and, as they slipped into her car – Jack almost visibly nervous while she felt peace and faith underneath the roil of guilt and associated emotions – she smiled a little and said, “You know, the kids’ rooms are still made up for when they come visiting. If you want to give the dingy hotel room a skip while you’re in town.”

“ _Stay_ with you? Director, you do realise this is starting to sound like you plan to let Sousa murder me, and you’re just trying to give him an alibi.”

“Agent, if my husband wanted to murder you, he could find his own alibi. And it would be rock solid.” Jack snorted, and she counted it as a victory. “Jack, when have differing opinions or even disappointments between us ended our friendship?”

Jack’s mouth opened, then closed audibly some time later. “Let’s see,” he said, eventually.

Peggy turned her face so he wouldn’t see her grin, and didn’t mind the sight of herself she caught in the car’s side mirror.


End file.
